Executive Order 9981
by Goldleaf83
Summary: Why is President Truman so interested in Hogan and Kinchloe's experiences in Stalag 13? Chapter 2 is now up!
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This post-war story is consistent with the "Conversations" stories I've written in terms of Hogan's post-war career, although it doesn't feature any of Hogan's family._

ooOoo

_October 1946_

"President Truman, may I present General Robert Hogan. General Hogan, this is President Truman."

Hogan shook the hand offered to him, studying the man it belonged to. A firm grip—hardly surprising. The President was taller than he had expected: the press always seemed to describe Truman as a small man, but Hogan put him at around five feet, nine inches—about average height, maybe two inches shorter than Hogan himself. Truman was dapper, too, in his dark gray double-breasted suit and bow tie with orange and blue fish swimming against a red background. Fond of a bright tie himself when out of uniform, Hogan grinned inwardly while President Truman's hazel eyes, magnified by the thick glasses, regarded him cheerfully.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Hogan said sincerely, still trying to make himself believe that he was actually being introduced to the president of the United States. The very idea seemed surreal, and he wished he could go back in time to tell his ten-year-old self.

Nonetheless, here he was at a tea party in the Rose Garden of the White House, with enough stars on the uniforms around him to make whole constellations. His own lone star, well under the average of the dozen or so other generals and admirals attending this event, made him wonder exactly why he was here, or if there had been some kind of mistake. But no, the invitation had been clear—and it had been backed up by his own superiors, Generals Butler and Barton. General Butler had in fact personally checked to make sure Hogan had both gotten the invitation and was attending the event. He had also just made the introduction—and had now stepped back, leaving Hogan on his own with the President.

So Hogan was definitely wanted here at the White House. The question was: why? This kind of contact still seemed above his pay grade, even given his current job.

"How's your golf game, Hogan?" the President asked with a grin.

Hogan chuckled in response. He'd been getting variations on this joke since late August, when Ben Hogan had won the PGA Championship. "Nowhere near champion level, I'm afraid, sir. And there's no relation, as far as I know."

The President grinned at him again, then gestured over to the White House behind them. "Have you ever been here before?"

"No, sir," Hogan answered, his eyes going over the large neoclassical façade. His rank as a major before the war had certainly not merited any kind of connection to the Roosevelt administration. Nor had he ever found the time to play tourist in this particular spot.

"We'll have to be sure you get the nickel tour," the President said, also eying the famous residence, but with a clearly critical view. "Though the whole damn structure needs work—the place is falling apart from the inside. Even the outside needs redoing, especially the South Portico. Those awnings are a perfect eyesore. We need them to shade the Blue Room, but they look awful. I've had them painted, I've had them washed, and we put new ones in this year and still they look like hell. They just collect dirt." He shook his head in disgust.

"You have a good point, sir," Hogan nodded in agreement. The awnings didn't fit the dignified structure very well in his view, breaking up what should be elegant spaces between the columns. However, surely he hadn't been asked here to give his opinion on interior—or exterior—decorating.

"Come see the grounds. They give a better view." The President of the United States moved off southwards at a quick clip, and Hogan lengthened his own stride to keep up with him. General Butler seemed to have melted away entirely; their only companions were a discreet set of Secret Service agents—who also seemed rather hard put to keep up with Truman's brisk pace.

_This has to be it_, Hogan thought to himself. _He's going to tell me why I'm here_.

The President paused suddenly when they were in the midst of the South Lawn, well out of earshot of the party. He turned back to Hogan, who had fortunately managed to stop before running into the leader of the free world.

"Mr. Churchill speaks highly of you, General Hogan," Truman said.

Hogan's eyebrows lifted in surprise. While he and his team had once had the great honor of meeting Winston Churchill while they were all being debriefed in London after V-E Day, he could not imagine why on earth the former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom would mention _him_ to the President of the United States.

Truman looked amused at his reaction. "You did save him from assassination," he pointed out, "and you played a crucial role—with his personal approval—in the D-Day plans. You've spent a fair amount of time in England since the end of the war. You are certainly—what's the new phrase you pilots use?—'on his radar,' General Hogan."

Nonplussed, Hogan blinked, unsure how to respond. He was apparently on Truman's radar too. Truman had just made it obvious that he knew about the very highly classified operation at Stalag 13. Of course, he was the President, so naturally he had the security clearance . . . but it felt more than a little strange that the President of the United States, whom he had never met before today, knew things about him that his own parents didn't.

Before Hogan could marshal his thoughts to provide a coherent answer, Truman continued on. "Mr. Churchill suggested I read your file. I must say, it was a lot more entertaining than most military files—even the classified ones. You accomplished a hell of a lot during the war, General."

"Thank you, sir. I had a great crew," Hogan replied, giving credit where credit was due.

Truman smiled. "I like a man who doesn't take all the glory for himself. Tell me about them."

Something in Truman's demeanor suggested to Hogan that they were finally circling the conversational target. If the President had read his classified file, then he had to know about his Stalag 13 team. Everything Hogan had heard or read about Truman suggested he was a straight shooter, not a Machiavellian schemer. Retreat was no option. Hogan decided to go on the offensive with a bold, and perhaps risky, maneuver.

"They were the best team of the combined Allied armies," Hogan said, pulling out his wallet. "Here's a picture of them, sir," he said, sliding out a small photo and handing it over to the President. It wouldn't have been in any file Truman had seen.

The picture had been taken right after liberation, his inner circle standing around him, just outside the barracks' door: LeBeau and Newkirk on his left, Kinch on his right, Carter slightly turned, looking over at Newkirk. All of them a bit skinny from the short rations of the last few months of captivity, but everyone alive and healthy and smiling broadly, having won through the war, despite all the times they'd had close scrapes with disaster. Baker had taken the picture, so unfortunately wasn't in the shot; Olsen had been somewhere else at that moment and was also missing from the picture. But it was the best image he had of the men who had worked side by side with him to accomplish the impossible, under his orders, over and over again for nearly thirty months. If anything would make the names in the files real to the President, it was this picture.

Truman took the picture and peered at it. "This would be Corporal LeBeau, and this Corporal Newkirk?" he asked, pointing to each unerringly.

"Yes, sir," Hogan nodded, noting the confirmation that the President knew his crew by name and nationality.

"Then this would be Sergeant Carter, and this," Truman's finger moved to jab at the final figure in the picture, "must be Sergeant Kinchloe."

Hogan's senses all hit high alert. Kinch was in Truman's sights in some way. He looked up sharply from the picture to meet Truman's eyes. The President's face was composed, no hint of what the man from Missouri thought of Hogan's unorthodox choice as his right hand man in the operation.

"I believe he received a commission, has been promoted to first lieutenant, and serves as your aide now?" Truman asked, his voice still bland.

"Yes, sir," Hogan answered, meeting the President's flat tone with his own. He'd fought this battle before, but he hadn't counted on having it here, now, with this particular superior. But he was not about to back down from it.

"So tell me about Lieutenant Kinchloe, General," Truman continued.

"What do you want to know, sir?" Hogan countered, trying to get a bead on the other man's line of inquiry.

"Whatever you think is important," the President responded, his tone still neutral.

Okay, fine. Hogan intended to come out all guns firing. He tucked the picture carefully back into his wallet, gathering his thoughts, then faced the President grimly.

"Kinchloe was essential to the operation, sir. He started as our radio man, building the radio from scratch and keeping it working for the duration, despite the difficult conditions. He handled all communications from London, keeping up with all the codes and their changes, and probably slept even less than the rest of us, monitoring the radio communications at night. He is fluent in both German and French, so he was crucial in monitoring information we gleaned from German sources and what we got from the French resistance, not to mention his usefulness in playing the part of German officers over the radio and telephone when we needed it. He had the coolest head under pressure of the entire crew, and the best judgment. I could—and did—count on him to point out flaws in plans, to reel me in when my own ideas were unworkable, and to see to it that my orders were carried out once I gave them. He is a natural leader and had the respect of not just every man in my inner circle, but in the camp as a whole. And that's just for starters. I could go on—sir."

"And he lived in the barracks with you. A black man." Truman's voice remained neutral, but his gaze was sharp, despite the distorting spectacles, and he had put his hands on his hips.

"Yes, sir," Hogan gritted out. "His bunk was next to the door of my quarters, so he was always within call for me when I needed him."

Truman shifted his feet and folded his arms over his chest, looking away from the White House and down toward the Mall, where the white obelisk of the Washington Monument rose high into the air, looming over the reddening trees that bordered the South Lawn. "The other men made no difficulties?" Truman asked after a moment's silence.

Hogan tilted his head back slightly, lifting his chin defiantly. "I got any man who couldn't work with Sergeant Kinchloe transferred to another camp," he admitted. "I needed Kinch more than I needed any of them—and quite frankly, sir, that didn't happen many times. The men of my camp put the mission before any other considerations. And," he added challengingly, "we all knew what we were fighting against—and thus what we were fighting for."

Truman returned his gaze pensively, unfolding his arms and standing with his elbows akimbo. His fingers twitched slightly at his waist. Hogan stood firm.

"I admire a man who defends his subordinates," Truman finally replied. "And I would be curious to meet the officer who inspires such an impassioned appraisal from you, General. I'll ask my appointments secretary, Mr. Connelly, to find an appointment time for you and Lieutenant Kinchloe next week. General Vaughn, my military aide, will coordinate the time with you. For now, we had best return to the party." He gestured off toward the Rose Garden.

"Of course, Mr. President," Hogan replied, wondering what kind of situation he and Kinch had wound up in this time.

ooOoo

_Historical Notes (quite possibly more than you're interested in): Truman was fond of bright ties. The one he's wearing in this scene is lifted from an online description (with picture) of one he actually owned. Hogan tells General Biedenbender in "Hogan Gives a Birthday Party" that he likes "loud ties."_

_Truman was also well known for what was politely referred to as "salty" language, so the mild (by today's standards) swear words I've used have their basis in historical reality. One of my favorite Truman anecdotes starts with the complaint from a friend of his wife who objected to Truman referring to "good manure" at a horticulture show. When the friend complained to Bess Truman, asking her if she couldn't get her husband to say "fertilizer" instead, the First Lady responded, "Heavens, no. It took me 25 years to get him to say 'manure.'"_

_Truman's comments on the White House portico are adapted from a letter he wrote the next year (1947), when he began to argue for the creation of what eventually became the Truman Balcony. He faced fierce opposition to building it, many believing it would ruin the façade, but Truman stuck to his guns. He argued that it would enable them to get rid of the awnings he hated by providing the needed shade and that it would be an architectural improvement to break up the overly long columns of the portico, citing Thomas Jefferson's own similar structures at the University of Virginia. (The awnings really did look terrible in the photos I've found, sticking out between the columns of the portico.) Congress couldn't use purse strings to stop Truman because he paid for the construction of the balcony himself, out of money he had saved from the White House budget. Once it was built, the critics agreed that Truman had been right. The Truman Balcony bears his name to this day._

_Out of power in the United Kingdom, having lost his office as Prime Minister in the July 1945 election, Winston Churchill did visit the United States in March of 1946. He spent a good deal of time with President Truman, with whom he became good friends. _

_Mr. Connelly and General Vaughn are historical persons: they were Truman's aides._

_Other episodes referenced: "Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London," "D-Day at Stalag 13."_


	2. Chapter 2

_October 1946_

A few days later, General Hogan and Lieutenant Kinchloe stood together near the corner of Constitution Avenue and 17th Street, surveying the view of the Mall and the White House.

"We _cannot _be late for a meeting with the President of the United States," Kinch had pointed out to Hogan that morning, when suggesting that they order the staff car extra early. Hogan had agreed, of course. And they certainly weren't late: having encountered none of the anticipated traffic problems, they had arrived outside the White House nearly an hour ahead of the scheduled meeting. Standing around just outside the President's office and waiting for that amount of time before their appointment was out of the question, and so, dismissing the driver of their car with a reminder of the expected rendezvous time and place, the two of them had walked the short distance down to the Mall to kill the time.

Hogan stood with his back to the White House, glancing left to see the Capitol Building perched on its slight hill, shining creamily in the sun. The Washington Monument gleamed in front of him, ivory against the clear blue autumn sky. Kinch, standing just to his right, was turned away from him, gazing down past the Reflecting Pool, toward the glowing marble of the Lincoln Memorial.

"I remember when it was dedicated," Hogan remarked, turning to stand shoulder to shoulder with Kinch and squinting into the sun.

Kinch glanced at him. "You'd have been, what—seventeen at the time? Were you actually here for it?"

Hogan shook his head. "Nope, though I wish I had been. I just read about it in the local paper, like most everyone else. I remember being astounded that Lincoln's son, Robert Todd Lincoln, attended. One of those 'I didn't realize he was alive' moments. Must have been really something for him to see his father honored that way." He raised his hand, shading his eyes to try to see the giant seated statue shaded inside the building. "You've visited it?" he asked.

Kinch nodded. "My first stop when I first visited Washington." He smiled slightly. "I'd promised my Gramma that I'd go convey her gratitude to Mr. Lincoln." His smile faded. "She always remembered 'the day the freedom come,' as she put it, and wanted to thank him for it. Since she didn't get the chance to, I did it for her."

Hogan did some subtraction in his head. "Right now it's only four years short of four score and seven years since Lincoln gave the Gettysburg Address. We're almost as far in his future as he was from General Washington. I wonder what Lincoln would think of our world today. Do you suppose he'd be disappointed in us?"

"In you and me, sir? No, President Lincoln wouldn't be disappointed," Kinch answered steadily, eyes still on the distant memorial building. The dappled Potomac glinted in the sunlight behind it.

Hogan had intended the question more generally, thinking of the rather dismal state of the country and the world at large despite the Allied victory a year ago, but he liked Kinch's more specific and personal answer. He brought his right hand up to clap his long-time comrade's shoulder. Kinch turned from the monument, looking at Hogan first, then on past him to the White House two blocks away.

Hogan followed his glance and nodded. "Now we'll see what Mr. Lincoln's latest successor has in mind," he said.

ooOoo

After presenting their credentials, Hogan and Kinch found themselves ushered through the outer gates, down a walkway, then into the West Wing's lobby with its checkerboard marble floor. The receptionist, a cheerful gray-haired gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Simmons, checked them in, waving them off with his pipe to another staffer, who conducted them through a series of corridors, ending up in the secretaries' office outside the Oval Office a mere ten minutes before their appointment. A slightly built, thin woman with hazel eyes, seemingly in her mid-forties, greeted them, introduced herself as Miss Conway, President Truman's personal secretary, and then offered a brief apology: the President's schedule was running about ten minutes late.

"I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?" Kinch muttered under his breath as they sat down on a comfortable leather sofa to wait.

Hogan smirked. "If the President of the United States can occasionally run a little late in his schedule, why not a general?" he answered _sotto voce_, thinking of the times Kinch had had to rearrange his schedule when appointments and meetings ran a bit long.

One of the other secretaries, a primly dressed small lady in her late forties with a white streak in her dark brown waved hair, approached them as they sat there. To Hogan's experienced eye, she looked distinctly uncomfortable. "May I get you a cup of coffee while you wait, sir," she inquired, looking directly at Hogan. Her voice had a soft, cultured Southern cadence—South Carolina, Hogan judged. He'd bet on Charleston.

Flicking the barest glance over at Kinch, Hogan answered with a charming smile. "That'd be nice, ma'am. I take mine black. My aide, Lieutenant Kinchloe, takes his with cream and sugar." He kept his eye firmly on her, as she thinned her lips into a straight line before giving him a slight nod and turning to go over to a small cubbyhole.

She emerged from it a couple of minutes later with a small tray bearing two cups of coffee in two of the most elegant china cups on saucers Hogan had ever seen. Each ivory cup was decorated with the presidential seal on the side and trimmed at the top with a narrow band of deep blue accented with small gold stars. The rims and handles were gold too. All very rich and patriotic. A matching sugar bowl and creamer accompanied the steaming cups.

Hogan gestured for Kinch to help himself first. It went against the order of precedence, of course, but Hogan didn't give a damn about that and was taking no chances on an "accidental" spillage after he had taken his own. He saw Kinch's mouth twitch under his mustache as he carefully poured the cream and then spooned two sugar cubes in before lifting the delicate cup and saucer to stir them into the fragrant coffee. As usual, Kinch had picked up on his CO's tactics and was playing along.

Hogan reached for his own cup and smiled again. "Thank you, ma'am," he said politely, echoed by Kinch. The all-too-cultured southern lady nodded stiffly and bore the tray away.

Raising his cup to drink, Kinch met Hogan's eyes over its rim. Hogan saw perfect understanding in them: a small twinkle of amusement at Hogan's strategy overlaying a deeper weariness and smoldering anger at the need to outwit yet another bigot. Hogan mentally counted the days until they would return to Europe. Not that life was perfect there, by any means—trying to patch together a war-torn continent both physically and socially was no simple task, and prejudice remained a consistent issue there too, both within the Armed Services and outside them. But bigotry took different forms there and Hogan generally had the clout to ensure that Kinch got fair treatment until Kinch's own capabilities won over the doubters.

Just as they had in Stalag 13.

ooOoo

_Historical Notes: William Simmons (the White House receptionist) and Rose Conway (President Truman's personal secretary), who both appear briefly in my story, were actual people and are drawn from historical descriptions and photographs I found of them. The rude secretary who serves coffee, on the other hand, comes exclusively from my own imagination and is not intended to represent any genuinely historical person. _

_I have tried to make my descriptions of the White House, its grounds, and the West Wing accord with contemporary descriptions and photographs from 1946 as best I could. The tea/coffee service is from the Roosevelt administration: the Trumans ordered a new china service, but not until 1951, after the complete renovation and redecoration of the White House, five years after this story is set._


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Warning: This chapter contains brief references to some graphically violent but true historical events that occurred in the Jim Crow American South after World War II—incidents that would have been common knowledge at the time so not needing further explanation in the story. Thus, I do not go into any kind of detail in the story, but you can certainly research them yourself. They are hard to read about. On the other hand, they were unspeakably worse for the people to whom they happened. What was done to them should neither be hidden nor forgotten. Some historically accurate language of the time also appears—what would have been considered polite back then but is no longer employed in our contemporary period given (fortunate) shifts in American usage._

ooOoo

About ten minutes later they had both finished their coffee. Hogan resisted the temptation to look at his watch. A memory suddenly welled up: himself sitting in a wood chair outside Klink's office, trying to overhear what was happening inside where a Gestapo officer—what was his name? Strauss, that was it—was interviewing Klink, preparatory to trying to take over the camp. Hilda had defiantly offered him coffee, despite Hogan's status as a prisoner and the clear disapproval of the Gestapo henchman guarding him.

He smiled at the memory, earning a questioning look from Kinch.

"Reminds me of sitting outside Klink's office," he said offhandedly, not wanting to get into detail.

"No Hilda or Helga here," Kinch answered, his eyes sweeping around the room.

"No, not at all," Hogan answered, then abruptly the door to the Oval Office opened and three men in expensive hand-tailored suits came out. Hogan wondered who they were: Cabinet secretaries? Undersecretaries? Congressmen? Aides? Business tycoons? They passed on through. Miss Conway entered the office behind them, and after a few moments she returned. "The President will see you now," she said, gesturing toward the door as Hogan and Kinchloe rose from the sofa.

After taking a deep breath and trading a final apprehensive look with Kinch, Hogan led the way into the Oval Office. Automatically, he glanced about as quickly as he could to absorb details—a habit of observing his environment honed during the war when survival could depend on it, deepened by his curiosity about this famous place.

Many features of the richly appointed room jumped out at him. A blue-green rug covered the floor; gray-green walls set off the heavy dark green drapes whose valances were decorated with gold-embroidered eagles. A fireplace to his right was framed by matching elegant chairs on each side, a portrait of Simón Bolívar on a horse hung above it, flanked by George Washington on the right and Franklin Delano Roosevelt on the left. Interesting choices—and Hogan couldn't help admiring a man who was both respectful and self-confident enough to put his famous immediate predecessor on the wall to look at daily. A large globe in a heavy wood frame stood on the floor in front of one section of the wall. Hogan wondered if it was new enough to have the redrawn map of Europe.

On the left, a massive mahogany desk sat in front of three windows. Behind it, a smaller elegant table in front of the central window held what appeared to be family photographs. The table was flanked on the left by an American flag, glossy with red and white stripes, and a president's flag in deep blue on the right. Along the wall, just to the left of the desk and windows, reposed a cherry-red sofa, clearly for visitors. It was matched by two fauteuil chairs, each in front of one of the two framing windows. The sofa and chairs were clearly arranged so that the President could comfortably chat with visitors from his own desk chair. Hogan briefly wondered if the furniture was Roosevelt's or if Truman had redecorated after taking over the job so suddenly on Roosevelt's death last year.

Through the three doors in the wall just to the left of the sofa Hogan got a glimpse of the Rose Garden, where he had met the President just a few days earlier. His eye was caught by pictures of biplanes that hung on the short length of wall between each door. So Truman was a fan of planes? That might be useful. . . .

In front of the desk, nattily dressed in a light gray double-breasted suit, white shirt, and matching silk charcoal tie and handkerchief, stood President Truman himself, looking down at a file he was holding. He glanced up as they entered and put the file down on the desk. Hogan and Kinch came to attention and smartly saluted their Commander-in-Chief.

"At ease, gentlemen. General Hogan, it's good to see you again." The President stepped toward them and extended his hand, and Hogan shook it.

"And you too, Mr. President," Hogan responded. Then he gestured toward Kinch, hanging back slightly behind him. "May I present Lieutenant Kinchloe, sir."

Kinch took a step forward, but Truman didn't extend his hand, studying him. Then, just as the pit in Hogan's stomach dropped like an embattled B-17 that had lost all its engines, suddenly the President smiled and offered his hand to Kinch.

"My apologies, Lieutenant—I wasn't brought up to do this. But I'm doing my best to rise above."

Kinch shook hands with him and replied, "It's an honor to meet you, sir," in his most formal voice.

Hogan winced inwardly. Kinchloe's formality would seem entirely appropriate in this social context, but Hogan knew from experience what that tone meant: Kinch was seriously ticked off—and reasonably so in Hogan's private opinion. At least this time it wasn't at him. Kinch was even-tempered enough that he didn't get into a snit very often, but he was hell to coax out of it when he did.

Meanwhile, the President of the United States was trying to be hospitable. "Please, gentlemen, sit down," he said, gesturing toward the red sofa. As Hogan and Kinchloe seated themselves, Truman sat down in the well-padded black desk chair, swiveling it to face them.

"General Hogan, a phrase you mentioned when we met last week has been stuck in my mind since then," the President began, getting straight to business. "You said, 'We all knew what we were fighting against—and thus what we were fighting for.'"

Hogan nodded, remembering the conversation.

Truman continued, "Taken with what I've read of both your files, I thought perhaps the two of you might offer some useful perspectives for some long-term ideas I'm developing."

Hogan blinked, mentally thrown off balance. The President's agenda was still unclear, but it seemed to differ radically from the attack he had been expecting. He could feel Kinch sitting at alert next to him. But they still needed to know more about where Truman was going with all this.

"I'm sure we'd be glad to help you, sir, if we knew what you needed," he responded cautiously.

Truman nodded. "Maybe you two know that there were colored troops during the Civil War?" he inquired.

Again, Truman was full of surprises, and apparently was determined to use an oblique approach to whatever the subject was. "I've seen the monument for Colonel Shaw and his men in Boston," Hogan acknowledged.

"Yes, sir, I knew," Kinch said, although without elaborating. Still reserving judgment, Hogan suspected.

"And many in the Great War as well," the President went on, "most in support positions, but one regiment served on active duty on the Western Front."

"The Harlem Hellfighters," Kinch declared proudly. "They 'never lost a man through capture, and never lost a trench or a foot of ground to the enemy'," he added. Hogan suspected he must be quoting a well-known line.

"An admirable record," Truman agreed. "And quite a few colored soldiers served in the war we finished last year, including you, of course, Lieutenant. I'm sure both of you as Army Air Force officers know of the Tuskegee airmen, and I'm willing to bet that you at least, Lieutenant Kinchloe, know what General Vandergrift said of the colored troops under his command in the Pacific."

"Yes, sir," Kinch answered, meeting Truman's gaze frankly. "The general said, 'The Negro Marines are no longer on trial. They are Marines, period.'"

Hogan, who has also read the comment, was pretty sure Kinch had it right, word for word.

"I want you gentlemen to know that I agree with General Vandergrift. Our colored troops are as much American soldiers as any others. Furthermore, the treatment some of our colored veterans have received upon their return home has outraged me."

Hogan felt his heart lift. He hadn't expected this from the man from Missouri.

Kinch, however, shifted restlessly, and Hogan could feel the tension emanating from him. "Are you referring to how veterans have been beaten for returning home down South, sir? Or the Moore's Ford lynchings in Georgia?"

"Both, Lieutenant Kinchloe. I can't pretend that I think we can achieve social equality for coloreds like you—frankly, I don't think such a thing exists even for whites. But I do believe, firmly, in the brotherhood of all men before the law and equality of opportunity for all human beings. People have the right to live and improve their lot through their work. The lynching of any Negro man, let alone two women, is a stain on our country, and the lynching of a U.S. Army veteran is a national disgrace. I did order that the F.B.I. investigate those murders, but they haven't come up with much."

"With all due respect, sir, the Negroes of the area would think it too dangerous talk to white outsiders about the four murders, and of course the white community there won't admit to what they've done. There were too many of them involved in the lynchings," Kinch said stiffly.

"Maybe so," Truman agreed. "Maybe the F.B.I. won't make any headway. But at least by having it investigated I'm sending a message that my administration doesn't turn a blind eye to that kind of violence. General Hogan, Lieutenant Kinchloe, I can't change the past, but I do believe the South has to stop living in it. Jim Crow needs to go."

"That's welcome news, Mr. President," Hogan put in. "And long overdue. How will this affect the military, sir? And where do the two of us come in?"

"I'm intending to appoint a commission to investigate civil rights in the United States and make recommendations. Quite frankly, I wish I could put you on it, General, but it needs to be a civilian committee." As Hogan nodded his understanding, Truman added, "But I'm hoping that you'll agree to be a liaison in the military that the committee can contact. I think they might find an example of a successful long-term integrated barracks useful—and you two can speak to that and summon the other men of your barracks to corroborate your points. —That is, I assume you think they would do so, gentlemen?"

"Yes, sir, I have no doubt of it," Hogan affirmed as Kinch nodded in agreement.

"I'm afraid you'll both have to keep the achievements of your, ahem, 'extracurricular activities' under your hat, despite your significant successes, however," Truman added apologetically.

Hogan nodded in agreement, having expected nothing else. "We'll be glad to be of service, sir."

Kinch was apparently thinking ahead. "Are you planning to integrate all branches of the military, Mr. President?" he asked, disbelief and hope warring in his voice.

Truman looked out the window, out towards the white obelisk of the Washington Monument. "I will very seriously consider the recommendations of the commission I am appointing," he answered after a pause. He turned back to them. "As I said, I think the input you two officers can give them about your barracks experience in your POW camp could be influential."

Truman was a cagey politician, Hogan thought. He was refraining from making a definitive promise—but this didn't sound like an empty gesture either. Why bring the two of them in at all, much less establish the commission, if he intended to ignore the recommendations? But he definitely wasn't committing himself to any particular course of action either.

After a momentary pause, as they digested the implications of his comment, Truman added, with a warning note in his voice, "Any recommended changes will take time to implement, mind you. We can't change the whole culture overnight."

Kinch looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. "With all due respect, sir, we Negroes are always being told to wait and be patient. At some point, patience is likely to give out."

Truman stiffened, clearly not liking being taken to task on the subject. Hogan decided he had better step in and opened his mouth, but closed it as Truman spoke again, his voice cool.

"You certainly speak your mind freely, Lieutenant."

"I did not mean to give offense, sir," Kinch replied, his voice formal again. "I was noting a historical pattern—and its likely result, given what I read and hear in the Negro community. Reporting the latter seemed my duty to you as my Commander in Chief, sir."

Truman's mouth quirked. "Well, I admire a man who is willing to speak the truth to those in authority over him. General Hogan, you did say that you relied on the Lieutenant to point out flaws in your plans. You'll do that for mine too, Lieutenant?"

"I stand ready to serve, sir, in whatever capacity you need me," Kinchloe said firmly.

Hogan nodded in agreement. "As I also said, sir, Kinchloe has always carried out and enforced any orders I've given. You can rely on him as I do—and on myself as well."

"Well, gentlemen," Truman stood up and they immediately followed suit, "we are all three sworn to protect the Constitution. I can assure both of you that I take that duty seriously, and I will use all the powers of my office to do so, whatever opposition I may face from within and without my party. All the men of this country deserve a fair deal: the right to vote, a chance to work and to serve their country in the military to the best of their ability, and to travel and live free from fear that violence will take their lives. I'll be counting on you both to help me with that." He offered his hand, first to Kinch, then to Hogan, who each shook it firmly.

As they left the Oval Office, Miss Conway nodded to them, on her way in to introduce the President's next agenda item of the day, no doubt. An aide stepped forward, offering to show them their way out. Relieved they didn't have to navigate back through the maze on their own, Hogan accepted appreciatively.

The friendly Mr. Simmons greeted them as they reached the lobby. "Did you have a good meeting with the President, sir?" he asked Hogan.

"Yes indeed. Mr. Truman is a man full of surprises," Hogan responded honestly, with an agreeing nod from Kinch.

The two of them walked out of the West Wing and began to stroll toward where the staff car would pick them up.

"I know we have plenty of stuff on our plate back at the office," Hogan said meditatively, "but I'm going to tell the driver to drop us by Lincoln's memorial for a few minutes' visit. I'd say Mr. Lincoln would like to hear that the man who occupies his office is a worthy successor."

Kinch smiled broadly. "Yes, sir, General. I'd say he's the best in four score years."

ooOoo

_**Author's Note:**__ President Truman proposed what he called the "Fair Deal" (following up on President Franklin Roosevelt's New Deal, itself a play on President Theodore Roosevelt's Square Deal) in 1949, stating in his State of the Union address that year that "Every segment of our population, and every individual, has a right to expect from his government a fair deal." His plans included the abolition of poll taxes, an anti-lynching law, increased public housing, an immigration bill, an increase in the minimum wage, and national health insurance, as well as a number of labor proposals—in other words, much of what was accomplished in Civil Rights Acts and other legislation more than fifteen years later in the 1960s. Some of his proposals remain on the table of national discussion today. Thus, I have my portrayal of President Truman use the phrase "fair deal" in his conversation with Hogan and Kinch as a nod to the ideas that he developed later in his first term in office and proposed in his second._

_A short epilogue (coming soon!) will conclude this story._


	4. Chapter 4: Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_July 27, 1948_

_Wiesbaden, Germany_

Hogan glanced up from his desk as a hard knock sounded against his office door. Even as he called, "Come in," the door opened and Kinch plunged through, his face lit up in excitement and his whole body vibrating.

"General, did you hear the news? He did it!"

Hogan's eyebrows rose. "News about what? Who did what?"

"President Truman, sir! He issued an Executive Order abolishing segregation in the armed forces!"

Hogan's mouth dropped open as he looked up at his aide, remembering all the meetings they'd had with the President's Committee on Civil Rights and the reports and memos which they had submitted to them. Nodding, Kinch thrust toward him a teletype communique, which Hogan took from him and read aloud.

_EXECUTIVE ORDER 9981_

_Establishing the President's Committee on Equality of Treatment and Opportunity In the Armed Forces._

_WHEREAS it is essential that there be maintained in the armed services of the United States the highest standards of democracy, with equality of treatment and opportunity for all those who serve in our country's defense:_

_NOW THEREFORE, by virtue of the authority vested in me as President of the United States, by the Constitution and the statutes of the United States, and as Commander in Chief of the armed services, it is hereby ordered as follows:_

_1\. It is hereby declared to be the policy of the President that there shall be equality of treatment and opportunity for all persons in the armed services without regard to race, color, religion or national origin. This policy shall be put into effect as rapidly as possible, having due regard to the time required to effectuate any necessary changes without impairing efficiency or morale._

His voice slowed as he finished the paragraph, staring at the miraculous words. He quickly scanned the rest of the page, down to the printed signature and date at the end. "There's a committee to see it gets done, and all government agencies are to cooperate." He looked up to his long-time comrade's shining face. "It's for real, Kinch."

"Yes, sir. I-I wasn't sure I'd ever see the day. . . ." Kinch's voice trailed off as he leaned on Hogan's desk.

Hogan waved him to the seat in front of his desk, then got up himself and moved to the sideboard. He poured two small shots of bourbon from the decanter into tumblers. He handed one to Kinch and held his own out as he leaned back to rest against his desk. "To equality under the law—and in all other respects," Hogan said.

"And to the president who genuinely stops the buck," Kinch answered as they solemnly clinked the glasses together and then drank.

"It's not going to be easy, Kinch," Hogan said, meditatively staring into his glass. "There'll be a lot of resistance in the military, some of it active, some of it foot dragging. They'll make it take as long as they can."

"I know. But it's a start. A _real_ start." Kinch looked up at him, determination mixed with measured hope on his face.

"Yes, it is. A good step forward. And we'll help make it happen, Kinch—you more than me, though. You'll be showing everyone the way forward." Hogan shook his head slightly. "I know it's a big burden for you to carry."

Kinch quirked his mouth in response. "I'm more than up for it, sir. And I see it more as a responsibility and opportunity than a burden. The real burden is what we're casting aside."

"It's a responsibility you've had for a long time," Hogan acknowledged. "I know you're highly capable of handling it. This will put you even more in the spotlight, as part of the vanguard. But it will open personal opportunities for you too. You should go forward into your own command." Despite the inner pang he felt at saying those words, he smiled slightly as Kinch's eyes widened.

Kinch drew a deep breath. "It—it'll be hard to leave you, sir. It's—been a long time."

"It's going to be hard to lose you," Hogan admitted candidly. "I've depended on you a lot as my _aide-de-camp_, and there's no replacing all you bring to the position—especially your knowledge of the old days during the war." They both smiled slightly at that closely guarded secret. "But you've learned all that you need to or can from being my aide," Hogan added firmly. "It's time to prioritize your own career and get you assignments that will move you forward. There's a lot of young servicemen, black and white and any other colors you can think of, who will benefit from having you as their CO." He set his tumbler down on his desk and leaned forward to put his hand on Kinch's shoulder, squeezing hard to communicate his affection for and strong belief in his long-time comrade-in-arms.

"I appreciate that, sir—and all you've done for me over the past six years." Kinch put his glass down and stood up, and Hogan rose from his perch on the edge of his desk to offer his hand. They shook firmly, and Hogan placed his left hand over their joined ones for a moment.

"Another round," he suggested, turning back to the decanter. Something to swallow would help with the lump in his throat.

"Here's to still more advances on the civilian front," he said after pouring.

Kinch nodded as they clinked glasses yet again. "And those who will make them happen."

_Fin_


End file.
